Non Omnia Moriar
by Shinga
Summary: Though the days were bad, the night was worse. Darkness brought memories of the worst kind. Regrets and images of horrible things swam around my head like hungry sharks eating at my soul. Images from a distant past, sharpened by the choices....


**"Non Omnia Moriar"**

By: Shinga

Rated: PG-13 for brief unpleasant images of torture and death.

Disclaimer: The premise of the story was basically my doing, but every character, every bit of history and universe of this was created by JK Rowling. Serious disclaimer done, lets move on.

****

It had been a very slow week. In all this time I had barely spoken at all, and remembered no one talking in return. I wasn't sure why Dumbledore insisted on keeping me in here; unlike them, I wasn't touched. He should have me sent to the dungeons instead of here. Did people like me get sent to Azkaban? I'm sure they do, and I already dreamed nightly of faceless demons haunting me, gathering around me in a satanic circle, tracing their gray fingers along my bare skin, ignoring my gasps and screams. Here's your fate, kid, get used to it.

My throat has shut itself from lack of use. I've given up talking and I haven't eaten or taken a drink since I arrived. I'd been kept alone, and I only once saw one of the others. I caught a glimpse of Hermione's face during the night, but only for a moment before I drew in a shuddering gasp and turned away. She had been hurt by this as much as Harry had. Her skin was burned and dried blood mixed with ashes not yet washed away. Her eyes were swollen shut and it was obvious only a charm was keeping her throat open to breathe. She was healing very slowly, and I had no idea how Harry was faring. They kept curtains around his bed at all times.

Harry was visited everyday by nearly half the school at different times. They left him presents, but Pomfrey never let anyone see him, and only let them linger around the curtains for a moment or two before she hurried them out. No one visited me, or even came to my side of the wing. They didn't even glance at me for very long. I didn't acknowledge them, but also didn't try to pretend they weren't there. I would simply turn my back from them and stare into nothing until they left. Every day repeated like this.

The days were cold to me. No amount of blankets helped, no matter how high up my neck I pulled them. My feet were numb and I often shivered with chills unexpectedly. Pomfrey would stop and stared uncomfortably at me when it happened, and frowned. But she never said anything, only took me more blankets and smiled rather sadly before attending to the others.

Though the days were bad, the night was worse. Darkness brought memories of the worst kind. Regrets and images of horrible things swam around my head like hungry sharks eating at my soul. Images from a distant past, sharpened by the choices I made in the not so distant past. I could never sleep for very long; I would hear Hermione scream suddenly, and I would sit up in bed and shout for her desperately. Then I would realize that she was peacefully asleep, and the sound was only my head playing tricks, remembering her voice from only a few nights ago.

I would sink back into my bed and pull the blankets over my head, and I would usually hear the sound of Ron sneaking into the wing. He thought everyone, including me, was asleep. He would go to Hermione every night and read to her. Sometimes it would be a passage from one of her schoolbooks, even though he likely didn't understand a word of it. Once in a while it was poetry he had written for her. When he read the poetry, he would cry over her. His wracking sobs always made me shift uneasily, and I felt my eyes grow hot and my throat swell.

I never cried with him. After he eventually left, leaving a kiss on an unburned part of Hermione's hair, I would be calm. In all this time I hadn't cried yet, and I didn't want to start. I knew if I did, I might never stop. So I would sleep when Ron left, trying to ignore the memories of the screaming, and the pain I witnessed, and most of all the burning on my arm.

A week had passed; I only knew because I saw the calendar on the wall. The day was still cold and noisy with Harry's visitors, the night began with Ron's reading and crying. After he left, however, I heard more voices. At first I ignored them, but after I realized they were real, I opened my eyes and turned around in bed to frown at whoever it was.

I froze and felt my body go rigid. It was Dumbledore, whispering quietly to Madame Pomfrey, who glanced at me once or twice. Finally she, looking numb, nodded and turned quickly away to straighten Harry's curtains. Dumbledore walked to me, and I shrank back away from him without thinking. He smiled in the soft light, rather sadly at me.

"Am I being sent to Azkaban?" I asked when he sat down beside the bed.

Dumbledore looked surprised. "Why would you think that?"

I shifted uneasily. "You know what I did. Everyone does by now, don't they?"

"Word spreads easily," said Dumbledore quietly. "But no. You shall stay here."

I didn't let my surprise show at all. Expressionless, I glanced up at the ceiling and pulled the covers up to my chin for no reason. It felt warmer with Dumbledore nearby.

"Madame Pomfrey says you're healing up just fine," said the Headmaster.

"I wasn't hurt at all."

"Yes," was all Dumbledore said for a moment before he smiled again. I felt warmer. "Do you think you need more time in the hospital wing, or would you prefer to go back to your dorm?"

I must have looked puzzled, for I felt it. I pulled the blankets back down to my shoulders. "I can go if I want?"

"If you feel you should," said Dumbledore. "And if you feel up to your lessons, of course."

"I think I do," I said slowly, wondering if there was some underlying message I wasn't getting. I sat up and stared at the Headmaster. "Everyone will hate me now."

"I'm sure they'll understand."

"Understand?" I snapped unexpectedly. Only a month or so before this I never would have spoken this way to him, or to anyone else. "Harry Potter's over there, so hideously hurt that no one's even allowed to see his face. Hermione looks horrible, but isn't hidden, which means Harry must be a nightmare from hell. Two other Muggle-borns haven't even been found yet, and as far as you or anyone else can know, I know where they are and haven't said anything."

"Do you know?"

I pursed my lips and looked down. "No sir."

"Then they must believe that that is true. You are a Gryffindor and your bravery shall have to show itself when you go back into your normal routine."

For a while I stared at him, and my eyes were hot again. I swallowed and pulled out my right arm, holding it up in the light. "Will this burn again? What do I do then?"

"It will never burn again," said Dumbledore, so seriously that I dropped my arm and stared uneasily. "Trust me. It won't." He stood slowly and I shrank back into my covers again. He really was very imposing as he stared down at me. "You may leave in the morning, back to your dorm. Good night." He left.

Pomfrey watched me all night. I slept maybe once or twice, and for a few moments only. I waited impatiently for sunlight, though it wouldn't help the cold. I dreaded going back, but knew I couldn't stay here forever. What would returning bring me? Hate, rejection... but it might only be a step up from what I was used to bearing. Only now my friends as well as enemies would loathe me. I would be truly alone.

The sun brought no warmth. Pomfrey came to me only after I sat up and looked at her. I got out of bed and let Pomfrey fix it up. She kept a wary eye on me as she straightened the blankets and put cleaning charms on them.

"I'm thirsty," I said quietly.

She turned around and stared fully at me, then smiled rather strangely. "Yes," she whispered sadly. "They always are in the beginning. It'll wear off, sweetie."

I left, confused and numb. My feet were still without much feeling and ever corner I turned seemed to wave cold. I ached to be with people, where I could at least feel a bit of warmth from them. The halls seemed unnaturally quiet. I felt a quiet pang of hunger and turned idly towards the Great Hall. It was still before breakfast, and perhaps no one would be there.

It was empty. I sat down on the Gryffindor table alone, feeling out of place. I stared down at the table. The plate in front of me remained clean, and I swallowed air, wishing for something to rest my nerves. Folding my cold hands in my lap I closed my eyes as if in prayer.

So everything was pointless.

I was facing this coldness everyday, and people who barely dared to look in my direction. Perhaps they feared the name my arm now represented. Perhaps now my eyes had the same slate chill that his did, and my skin the same deadly pale.

I felt my eyes grow hot and cold tears traced sharply down my cheeks, reminding me of dementors. I swallowed and sank helplessly on the seat, touching my forehead to the plate and breathing shakily, hoping not to cry. I did anyway... sobbing hopelessly for everything. My parents were still dead to me, and now I would never get them back. Now I had lost not only them but my friends as well. No one would have me now... cowardly betrayer I was. If Harry were Jesus, I was Judas. Judas Iscariot without the suicide following his act.

I heard a small gasp in front of me and I looked up sharply. I gaped for a moment at Ginny Weasley, who was staring at me in abject horror, her soft brown eyes spilling tears. She covered her mouth with her hand. "So it's... true?" she whispered.

Not knowing exactly what she meant, I frowned. "What, that it was me?"

Ginny frowned and sat down slowly across from me. "No, I knew... I knew what you did," her wide eyes shifted to my arm, then back up at my eyes. "But... the other thing... I didn't want..."

"You're here early."

Eyes widening and cheeks flushing, Ginny nodded shortly.

I stared at her for a while, and she glanced away uneasily. So I had changed. "There's something you want to know."

Ginny just stared, her warm eyes widening slightly.

"Ask me then. I don't have anywhere to be."

She glanced down at her plate and tapped it with her wand. It filled with toast and eggs. She looked at me awkwardly. "Do you mind if I...?"

I shrugged and she blushed and began to eat slowly.

"Why did you do it?" she suddenly blurted when a piece of her toast had been half devoured. I expected her to blush afterwards, but she only stared at me evenly.

Not in the mood for a long, drawn-out conversation I answered her, "They said they'd be able to get my parents back to me. You know how they are."

"I heard," Ginny whispered. "D-did you...? I mean, your parents..."

"No," I said coldly, and stood up, no longer hungry. Ginny started and seized hold of the table, staring at me in something like fear.

"Then how did it happen?" she whispered.

I glared. "'It'?"

"Er," said Ginny. "Yes... yes, it... how did... I mean, did You-Know-Who..." She seemed to notice I was puzzled, and she looked down. "Nevermind."

I left her there without a good-bye.

In the corridor I met several students. No one glared at me or spat nasty names; instead, their reactions were much like Ginny's. Some stared in awe, some in terror. Some stopped and merely looked sad. Most of the Slytherins seems torn between acting normal towards me and a little nervous. I said nothing to anyone, and they were silent in return. I passed by Headless Nick, who gasped in surprise and started to speak to me, but I walked right through him. A cold blast hit me powerfully, much worse then usual, and I stopped in the hallway to shake it off before drifting on.

Numb still, I walked aimlessly. I had an hour or so before class. It was Tuesday... what did I have first? Potions? I sighed and wondered how it would go. Would Snape still be the same, or treat me like everyone else was treating me?

"Have you figured it out yet?"

I whirled around to see Dumbledore staring at me. He was standing a few feet away in a dark hallway I'd accidentally wound up in. I frowned.

"It."

"Yes. I suppose by that, it means you haven't. Haven't you an idea of why everything has changed?"

"It's because of what I did," I said. "Accepting the mark, betraying Harry..."

"No," said Dumbledore firmly. "You've had that mark for over a month now as I recall, and you were fine then. You had made the choice about Harry shortly after that. But this change only happened after the matter." He smiled sadly. "None of them remember at first. It always takes until they realize... what they are. And they must realize on their own, so I can't tell you."

"I don't understand..."

"Think," said the Headmaster. "You've been cold, have you not?"

I frowned and nodded.

"Have you eaten since you arrived in the hospital wing? Or felt the hunger because of it?"

"No..."

"How has everyone reacted to you today?"

"Strangely," I admitted.

Dumbledore nodded and smiled again. "Gryffindors aren't noted or admired for their wits," he said. "But it should not take a Ravenclaw to figure it out, Mr. Longbottom."

I felt ill. I sat down and stared up at the Headmaster. It was the first time I'd heard my name this week. "Am I.. ill? Cursed?"

"Hardly, Neville. Those are curable. This is nothing that can be reversed."

"But... everything can be reversed..."

"No," said Dumbledore rather gravely. "Not everything. Some things, Neville, are permanent. They are final. The end."

The emotions of it hit me before the words. I felt cold tears down my cheeks and I felt a horrible chill. I began to sob. "I'm dead, aren't I?"

"Yes," the Headmaster said softly. "Your body was sent to your grandmother. The funeral was three days ago... a few students attended, despite some people insisting they'd seen you in the infirmary. Word spread about your... being in two places at once, it seems. Enough people put two and two together."

"Seems I was the only one in the dark," I said flatly.

The Headmaster watched me for a while as my tears ran unchecked. Ashamed, I looked away, but I saw him shake his head out of the corner of my eye. "It will take some time for you to heal completely. But I believe you can begin by settling some things with friends."

"I have no friends."

"You may think that. But others may not. If I am correct, Mister Potter is awake. You should go see him. He'll probably be very surprised to see you," said Dumbledore. "He was the only one to see you die."

"I... I don't even remember..."

"You will in time," said the Headmaster, nodding sagely. "Sometimes they remember immediately, with others it can take weeks for things to come back. Particularly if the death is... a very horrible memory."

I looked at Dumbledore again, feeling pale. "It... wasn't it Avada...?"

"If you wish to know, you should ask Harry. I believe he's asking for you."

It was foolish to argue. I cast one last look at the Headmaster that not even I could have labeled emotionally, and walked past him towards the Infirmary.

I don't remember getting there, or walking in. Perhaps I went through the wall; this was a particularly good possibility, as Pomfrey nearly shrieked when she saw me. She paled and cast a very disapproving look at me, but I held up a hand with the words "Dumbledore sent me" escaping from my lips before my mind asked them to.

"He's in no shape--"

"_Neville_?" Came an astonished voice.

"Mister Potter!" Pomfrey whirled around. Harry was standing by his bed, curtains pushed away, staring at me with one eye. His other was swollen shut, and his face was charred horribly with chunks of skin missing from it and his scar split open, still moist with blood. If I had had a real stomach, it would have certainly turned. For now I felt only a wave of cold.

"Hi, Harry," I said, in no way enjoying the way he was staring. I nearly looked away, but held strong. Gryffindor courage, even after death. I gritted my teeth that weren't really my teeth.

"Mister Potter, you get _back_ in that bed!" Pomfrey shouted.

Harry seemed to snap out of his reverie. Shaking, he sat down on the bed, never looking away from me. "Madame Pomfrey, can I... I have a moment?"

"Hmph," Pomfrey looked about to argue, but glanced at me and seemed to understand suddenly. Pale again, she nodded and bustled over to Hermione, well out of earshot.

"Neville," Harry choked. "You're... my _God_, you're..."

"Dead?"

"No, not that... I knew already you were... but you're _here_..."

"You saw," I said. "Dumbledore told me. I don't remember it happening. He said you were there."

"I was..." Harry pulled his scarred legs up under his chin. "I'll never forget."

I looked down. What now? I had no idea what I could say to him. There was so much he had to be angry at me about, and so much he didn't even know.

"It was Lucius Malfoy," I blurted. Harry looked at me, puzzled. I swallowed and continued in a soft voice, "He came to pick up his son unexpectedly a month ago, just for the weekend. I saw him in Hogsmeade and he... came to me specifically. He told me... told me they'd found a way to restore my parents. That the dark lord could bring them back from what they are."

"Oh, God..." Harry whispered. He could obviously see where this was going.

"I've wanted that for so long," I said. "Longed for them just to recognize me when I saw them. For them to respond to my owls, for my father to smile at me, to be proud of what his son is. For my mother to hold me and sing to me. For them to ask me about school, about my friends... I want my father to tell me about sex and girls. I want my mother to embarrass me in public when she washes my face in front of everyone. I want them to see me when I shop for new books, I want them to tease me about a crush. But all I have are... are vegetables. Walking vegetables. They stare at nothing and when they talk, it's nonsense. They've never looked me straight in the eye for as long as I can remember. I secretly dream that they understand me, and are just behind some wall, unable to reach me. That it tears them up as much as I suffer, but I know the truth. Their minds are gone, and I'm the only one who cries inside."

Harry said nothing. I drew in a shuddering breath and kept talking.

"Lucius told me I was right. That they were just trapped and they could be released to me. But at a price..." I shut my eyes. "I swore long ago I'd sacrifice anything to get them back. I didn't back down... I hated doing it, but I took the mark that night when Lucius took me home with him and Draco. I became one of them, and a spy. I knew a month ago how they planned to get you. I didn't know they wanted Hermione as well, but... they took her. I hated that... I didn't want you hurt, and especially Hermione. She had nothing to do with this war," I was trembling. "I regret taking the Mark. I regret ever making that oath to myself. Now my parents are still lost, forever, and I've lost my own life and nearly that of my friends that I loved, even though I did this to them. I know you didn't know that, that I'm sorry--"

"I knew," said Harry, barely audible.

"You did?" I looked up at him.

"You showed me," Harry said. "At the last minute. You... you don't remember, do you?"

I stared at him, suddenly feeling colder. "No," I said. "I... did I... what did I do?"

"They were going to kill us both, 'Mione and I," said Harry. "You were watching a while away. You screamed when Voldemort raised his wand... you jumped in front of us, pushed Hermione down. Voldemort hit you with... with Cruciatus. You kept screaming that you were sorry. You screamed for your parents. He kept the curse on you for so long I can't remember... you were bleeding, your skin... your skin began..." he stopped. "Do you want to know this?"

"Yes," I said. "I need to."

Harry nodded, looking quite ill. "Your skin... began falling off. Cracking, splitting, falling. You were clawing it off, pulling your own hair out. Your nails began chipping off and sticking in your skull. You..." He stopped, shaking violently. "You kept crying for forgiveness the entire time. You clawed the Mark off your arm. By the time.. by the time you died, so much had been shed I could see your heart beating on your chest. I saw it stop beating. Hermione had fainted long before you died. And... that was it..." He swallowed. "That's when the Aurors came. Voldemort got away, but... many Death Eaters were taken. They took your body to your grandmother, after they fixed it up as much as they could."

I dropped to the ground and began to cry again. This time it was painful, loud and horrible sobs, holding myself tightly as I sank my head towards my knees and wailed. Before I knew it, Harry had walked from his bed and was kneeling beside me, a thin arm faintly touching my back. I felt him shiver from my skin.

"I knew you were sorry," Harry whispered. "What you didn't know is that the instant I found out you took the Mark... I had already forgiven you."

"How _could_ you? I nearly got Hermione _killed_... you as well... who knows if your scars will go away. What if--"

"What _if_ nothing," said Harry. "What _is_. What _is_ true is that Hermione and I are _fine_. We're shaken, we were hurt, but thanks to you we're alive. You sacrificed yourself for us, which just proves your loyalty to us. You were torn between us and your love for your parents. Your courage is far past anything I can imagine having to have... your courage to give up your lifelong dream for the lives of two people who weren't nearly as important to you."

I glanced up at him, trembling. "But... I don't..."

"Everyone knows," said Harry. "Everyone knows you died saving us. It's all they know about it... sure, they also know you took the Mark. But even Slytherins are silenced by what you did." He smiled. "Ron was here before you were. He told me."

"What can I do now?" I sniffed, sitting up. Harry drew his hand away quickly, shivering.

"Maybe you can haunt Snape," said Harry with a good-natured grin on his mangled face. "He could use some company down there."

I forced a smile. "I'll consider that," I said softly.

"And beyond anything, Neville," said Harry. "Promise me you'll work on forgiving yourself for this, all right? We all love you."

A final tear trickled down my cheek and I nodded. "I'll start. I promise, I'll start."


End file.
